


Two in the folk who keep the Dead down

by tanyart



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Necromancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Shin chases after the missing Abhorsen.(An Abhorsen AU.)
Relationships: The Drifter & Shin Malphur
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Two in the folk who keep the Dead down

**Author's Note:**

> A writing exercise that I partly streamed! Admittedly, my Abhorsen lore is foggy and it's been years since I read the books but I wiki'd what I could. I have written way more than intended with still more leftover, lol. Please enjoy!
> 
> Some intro notes:  
> \- There are 9 Gates and Precincts of Death. Levels of Death, if you will. Each level has a different atmosphere. Not many people make it through even the 5th gate.  
> \- Death takes the form of a river.

The new Abhorsen isn’t like any that Shin has seen before. Too old, for one, to have appeared out of nowhere, finally taking up the mantle. The Abhorsen had been missing for years, and during that time Free Magic had been at liberty to fester over the Charter Stones, making the anchors weak. The shift happens slowly; the Dead grow in numbers, but the people adapted. Became stronger. Innovative. The Old Kingdom stands despite it all.

It is unexpected that Shin would have to thank the Abhorsen for it. He would’ve never been able to harness the cold and unforgiving powers of Free Magic without the Charter Stones weakening, without an Abhorsen to watch over them.

Shin kneels in front of the Abhorsen, who sits still and frozen in the middle of his wards. Ice had formed over the Abhorsen’s gaunt face, frost creeping over his bare hands and sleeves of silver key patterns and bells. The Abhorsen’s eyes are closed, deep in Death. So long as the wards hold, no living thing can disturb him.

Shin draws out his hunting knife, the blade clean of any inscriptions. He feels the prickle of Free Magic trying to claw through his hand and his fingers. The ring he wears around his left thumb goes cold. His mouth fills with bile, and his nose can only smell burning metal and rotting flesh.

He taps the tip of the blade against the Abhorsen’s ward. Free Magic flows into the ward, like venom into an unsuspecting body. The ward flickers, the drawn symbols around the Abhorsen’s body glittering as it activates and converges towards the point where Shin strikes the ward.

Shin’s knife buzzes, pain shooting up his arm, a mix of Charter and Free Magic battling one another. The ward holds. His knife does not; it shatters into a shower of powdered metal under his palm. Charter Magic washes over his hand, warming it, more soothing than the vicious bite of Free Magic. The stink and taste of Free Magic disappears, dispelled by the Abhorsen’s wards. It’s like drawing in deep a breath of fresh air, and Shin is only a little bit nostalgic.

Shin stands up. He draws out his sword, a spiral of Charter Marks along the blade lighting up, reflecting mirrored symbols over the white snow.

He takes a step back and starts to copy the Abhorsen’s wards, circling around his own footsteps. His sword drags along the ground and into the snow, symbols neat and precise. North. South. West. East. Four points of protection; Shin isn’t fool enough to believe it is about choosing Free Magic or Charter Magic — he would used both, whichever brought him power, consequence or not.

When his wards are finished, Shin sits in the middle of it, facing the Abhorsen. His hand lifts to his bandolier of Bells, fingers resting over Mosrael, the Walker, but not before brushing against Astarael, the Weeper.

Shin tilts his head and listens. The cavern is silent. So even the new Abhorsen dares not ring any Bells so far into Death.

He drops his hand, purses his lips, and whistles — the clear, unwavering note of Mosrael fills the air, and Shin feels sound try to wrench free from his lips, wanting to twist into a deeper, more dangerous pitch.

Shin shuts his eyes, until he feels the soft splash of water at his legs and waist. When he opens them, he is in front of the First Gate of Death.

Shin gets up, water dripping. It’s unpleasant, but at least it is something to feel. He might not be so lucky in the next Precincts. The First Gate is a waterfall, barred with Free Magic. He rus his hand against the water, feeling its pull, its invitation to draw him in. It hungers for the Free Magic buzzing within him, and Shin only has to upturn his palm to open the gate. The ring around his thumb burns.

This is the easy part. He steps through.

If he is lucky, there will not be more than eight gates.

* * *

_Shin has only ever been through the Ninth Gate once._

_He remembers neither the chill nor warmth of it. He remembers the stars and the shallow water at his ankles. There are no Bells to ring here, no whistles or melodies to sing, no symbols to draw upon the air or ground. There is only eternity above him, and Yor standing ahead._

_Yor does not rise up to touch the stars, as he should. Shin only wonders a long time later why he, too, had never felt the pull of the Final Gate. The Eighth Precinct had taken away his ability to feel anything. In the Ninth, it all comes back, clear and bright and truer than anything Shin has ever felt in Life or Death._

_Shin’s anger and hate rings like a Bell — deeper than Saraneth, harsher than Mosrael, a thousand times more sorrowful than Astarael._

_The stars of Death won’t take him. And Shin thinks it is too much of a mercy if Death was allowed to steal Yor away from him._

_Shin opens his mouth. It fills with the wretched stench of Free Magic. He lifts his hand towards Yor._

_There are no Bells, but a cacophony of noise bursts from him, so loud that it seems to shake the endless sky. His hand claws around Yor’s throat, thumb pressing into the jagged line where Shin had severed his body from head in the realm of the Living._

_“You don’t deserve death,” Shin spits._

* * *

By the time Shin finds the Abhorsen, they are at the Fifth Precinct. To cross it, there is a bridge in the dark.

The bridge is narrow, the sounds of the Dead echoing like they are in an enclosed chamber, smaller than it should be. From behind, Shin see the Abhorsen stop in his tracks, stilling as if he can sense Shin’s presence.

It’s probably true. Shin makes no move to hide himself. Between the approaching Dead and the way the Fifth Precinct is shaped, it is hopeless to stay hidden.

The Abhorsen turns around, eyes wide and shinning in the dark, and the sweet sound of Ranna floods Shin’s ears. The Abhorsen is trying to put him to sleep.

Shin’s steps slow, but the Free Magic around him takes the blunt of Ranna’s lullaby. The Dead around them fall back, tumbling from the bridge and into the water. The Abhorsen’s spells are not strong, even with the Bells.

“Who are you hunting?” Shin calls out. His voice drowns out Ranna. “Is it me?”

This seems to get the Abhorsen angry. Instead of running away, he glares at Shin.

“Are you Dead? No? Then fuck off,” says the Abhorsen. “It ain’t your business.”

The Abhorsen has a weird way of speaking. Old. Lilting. Ups and downs to his syllables. It makes the hair on the back of Shin’s neck stand up.

“I’m here to help.”

“The Renegade Mage wants to help?” the Abhorsen says, waving his hands, “Yeah, I’ll pass.” His voice has a staccato rasp, a rhythmic beat, but a monotonous tone, and Shin finds it so strange that he tilts his head to listen closer. “Like I said, it ain’t your business and if you took my wards down then the both of us will be in trouble. Fuckin’ asshole—”

 _Dyrim_. The fourth Bell, the Speaker. Or—the Silencer. The Abhorsen has used his own voice in place of the Bell, the note and cadence a perfect mimick, and not so obvious as a whistle.

Shin puts his hands over his ears and snarls, but no sound comes from his mouth; he is mute. He draws out his sword, Charter Magic flaring along the edge.

The Abhorsen stares at him for a moment — the sword especially, which gives Shin away as a mage who can do both types of magic. He raises his hand in farewell as the Dead surrounds Shin, and runs away, up and up the waterclimb of the Sixth Gate.

-

The Greater Dead’s spirit takes the form of a towering woman. Her skin has gone blue and pale, with eyes too dark to call black. The Abhorsen looks so small compared to her. When the Greater Dead speaks, her voice comes from nowhere. Her mouth does not move. She only looks up, never at who she is speaking to. The sky is nothing but blank darkness, nothing to look at, and yet the stars of Death reflect in her eyes.

Shin stands back and watches. The point of his sword dips into the water at his ankles, cleaned by the waves. There is nowhere to hide in the Eighth Precinct. His chase had taken them this far into Death. For the first time, he hesitates at the thought of following the Abhorsen through to the Ninth Gate.

The Abhorsen must’ve known he is there, but the Greater Dead had snapped his attention away, and suddenly Shin _knows_ he does not matter now; not with _her_.

The Abhorsen is reaching up, trying to touch the spot on the Greater Dead’s forehead.

She has no Charter Mark, Shin realizes. In the realm of the Living, she would appear as a monster. She is not harnessed or bound, and he doesn’t think the Abhorsen has the strength to do it, even if he had to.

He wonders if the Abhorsen is trying to lay her to rest. Shin starts forward. His voice has not returned; the Abhorsen might not have strength, but Shin understands perfectly that he makes up for it with cleverness.

The Greater Dead remains still. The Abhorsen stretches up, hand shaking as his fingers tried to trace the shape of a Charter Mark across her brow.

The Greater Dead does not even blink, but her hand shoots up, three times as large as the Abhorsen’s, and wraps tight around his wrist.

“ _I do not wish to rest,_ ” she says, pulling the Abhorsen back down. There is something gentle in her movements, though the Abhorsen flinches and tries to pull away.

Someone had given her independent thought and a voice to be heard. Shin starts to run. He feels the Abhorsen’s spell unravel, all around them and not just at Shin’s throat. Shin’s voice comes rushing back in the form of a shout. For all the good that would do — the Seven Bells will not work here.

He drags the Abhorsen away from the Greater Dead, the water around them churning. The Abhorsen shoves at him, angry.

The Greater Dead looks down at them. She blinks, starlight flickering in her gaze.

“You wards,” she says, no emotion showing, “They will fail.”

Shin cannot feel his real body back in the realm of the living. He can take a good guess the number of Dead he will have to fight once he escaped. The Abhorsen, on the other hand, jolts.

“What’s wrong with the wards?”

“You will not use your gifts.”

“To _hell_ with my gifts,” the Abhorsen snarls and starts to run back to the gates. He spares wary glance at Shin before an expression of fear flashes across his face.

Shin looks at the Greater Dead, trying to get past her impassive stare, but her form starts to waver. She is being pulled towards the Living, though her path will be different from Shin’s. Faster, for one, since she needs no physical body to return to.

Shin turns away and follows after the Abhorsen.

* * *

_They had met once before, way before Shin had known the Abhorsen’s face. At the time, Shin is Vale — a necromancer only in name._

_They had talked about Free Magic._

_“At first I cut off his head and hid it away on a mountain. Then I took his body across the Wall and buried it under a castle,” Shin says over campfire light. He leans forward, a mean smile flitting across his face. “When that didn’t satisfy, I brought him back to the Living Realm in the form of a Lesser Dead. Then I took away his will. Then I took his voice. Then his mind. I rang Belgaer for him and let him keep his worst memories while taking away the happiest. I wanted him to suffer.”_

_Shin leans back, chin tilting up. Some ugly emotion of pride curls in his stomach. This story from some deadbeat necromancer will never cross over with the hero Shin Malphur. This story is both lie and truth._

_“And I did it all with Free Magic,” he says, and to his ears it sounds like a quiet celebration, a fanfare for only him._

_The Abhorsen, who is not dressed as one, who is also posing as a necromancer, laughs._

_“Oh-ho! So someone’s got a touch of malice in him,” the Abhorsen says with an impressed whistle, tuneless. Not a note from any Bell._

_But Shin can see the fear in his eyes. The whistle sounds like a warning pitch._

_Shin tilts his chin back down, his smile turning bitter. “More than you’ll ever know.”_

**Author's Note:**

> More notes:  
> \- It is harder to lay the (Greater) Dead the rest if the head is severed and the Charter Mark is erased from their forehead.
>
>> If water fails thee, fire's thy friend,  
> if neither guards it will be thy end.  
> 
> 
> :o)


End file.
